Whilst scrolling through Netflix, I saw the thumbnail for the film I Saw the TV Glow. Now, I hadn’t seen it but vaguely remember hearing that it was worth a watch so I gave it a watch. Jane Schoenbrun’s film is a haunting, deeply moving exploration of identity, alienation, and the lifesaving power of media fandom. Set against the muted, suburban backdrop of the late 1990s, the film captures the unique, isolating trials of growing up queer in an era before the ubiquitous internet, perfectly nailing the period's specific aesthetic texture and emotional weight. At the heart of the narrative is the profound human need to "find your people"—a connection forged for teenage protagonists Owen and Maddy through the flickering glow of a fictional, late-night cult television series called The Pink Opaque. Reminiscent of 1990s supernatural dramas like Charmed or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the show follows two psychically linked girls fighting monsters-of-the-week alongside a sinister overarching villain, Mr Melancholy.
As the characters and themes from the broadcast begin to bleed into their everyday lives, Owen and Maddy search for a path to authenticity that lies just beyond the veil of their mundane world. Schoenbrun brilliantly utilises The Pink Opaque as a nested narrative that acts as a vital mirror for the characters' internal struggles, serving as a layered, unsettling, and ultimately beautiful allegory for the transgender experience, the terror of burying your true self, and the courage required to step into the light. The television screen isn't merely entertainment here; it is a sacred portal to a world where two lost souls finally feel seen. When Maddy suddenly vanishes—only to return years later deeply changed—the narrative takes on a fierce, haunting momentum.
This complex emotional landscape is anchored by two extraordinary lead performances. Justice Smith delivers a masterclass in quiet, devastating vulnerability as Owen, capturing the suffocating, paralysing fear of lifelong repression. Matching his intensity, Brigette Lundy-Paine is phenomenal as Maddy, radiating a desperate urgency that jumpstarts the film's second half. Together, their on-screen chemistry beautifully conveys the weight of finding someone who speaks your exact language when the rest of the world feels foreign, capturing that specific, hyper-intense period of adolescence where a single piece of media doesn't just entertain you—it defines you.
Visually, the film's period detail is flawless. From the warm, eerie hum of CRT televisions to the dim suburban streets, the production design masterfully portrays how deeply a television show can matter to marginalised youth, transforming media consumption into a shared lifeline. I Saw the TV Glow emerges as a poignant masterwork for anyone who ever felt like an outsider, capturing the exact moment when the static of a television screen felt far more real than the world outside.